


Honey Come Home

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post EN II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"What did you do?” Sloan asked again. “Is this a fixable offense? On a scale of one to ten, what are we talking here? Will flowers suffice? Or are we talking a nice pair of earrings to match the Rock of Gibraltar on her finger?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“She’s sleeping at her own apartment, what do you think?” Will asked.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey Come Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ehc6j](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehc6j/gifts).



> This is for Emily C., who is currently living in a hotbed of germs. The title is from the song by The Head and the Heart. And for the record, you really can buy brooches from Tiffany's.

“What did you _do_?” Sloan appeared in his doorway, her arms folded across her chest. She leaned against the door frame and shot daggers at him.

“Why do you assume that I did something? It could be something that Mac has done, have you thought of that?” Sloan didn’t say anything, just continued to give him a hard stare, and he sighed, tossing the pen that he was holding down on the desk and leaning back in his chair.

“What did she tell you?”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” Sloan said, closing the door and dropping down into the empty seat across from him. “But she looks awful.” That got his attention.

“Is she okay?” He asked quickly, his back straightening, and Sloan’s eyes narrowed.

“You pretty much live with her,” Sloan pointed out. “Shouldn’t you have, you know, laid eyes on her in the past day or so?” Will sighed again, reaching for his pack of cigarettes.

“She’s been sleeping at her old apartment,” he confessed. “Or, probably, _not_ sleeping. Fuck.”

“Don’t you also work with her?”

“She’s been avoiding me,” he admitted. “She’s been skipping rundown meetings and having Jim fill in as her proxy. Our interactions the past couple days have only been her in my ear. She’s gone by the time I’m done changing.”

“Well, whatever you’ve done,” Sloan said, wagging a finger at him. “Fix it. She looks like the walking dead.” His eyebrows sloped in concern, and it was her turn to sigh. “She’s not _actually_ dying, Mr. Doom and Gloom. She just looks like she could probably use some sleep. And by some, I mean a lot of sleep.”

“Yeah,” Will took a long drag of his cigarette.

“What did you do?” Sloan asked again. “Is this a fixable offense? On a scale of one to ten, what are we talking here? Will flowers suffice? Or are we talking a nice pair of earrings to match the Rock of Gibraltar on her finger?”

“She’s sleeping at her own apartment, what do you think?” Will asked. Sloan winced.

“Ouch,” Sloan replied. “I’d pull out the credit card if I were you.”

* * *

 

When Mac returned to her office after a meeting with Charlie, she found a display of flowers on her desk so ostentatious that it left her speechless for a moment.

She certainly didn’t need to look at the card to see who it was from, but she plucked it from among the flowers and flipped it over anyway.

_I’m sorry -W_

"Idiot,” she muttered to herself.

Mac wasn’t ready to give up her anger just yet, so she ignored the card, gathering up the massive bouquet and carrying it out into the newsroom and dumping it on the first person’s desk she came in contact with. Maggie looked up, wide eyed, and Mac shrugged.

“I don’t want these,” she said. “Do you want them? If you don’t, I’ll ask around, otherwise they’re getting tossed.” She wiped her hands on her skirt, spun on her heel, and headed straight for her office. She buried her face in her hands and took deep breaths.

A knock on her door a minute later had her sighing and straightening up, half hoping it was Will, and half wanting to avoid what certainly was going to become a scene.

“Yes?” She called out, and Maggie nudged open the door.

"I gave them to Neal,” Maggie reported. “Who is giving them to some girl he just met to impress her. I’m not sure what Will did, but judging by that flower arrangement, it was pretty bad. And I’m sure I’m one of the last people you would want to talk to about what happened, _and_ I’m pretty bad at advice, so I wouldn’t recommend confiding in me anyway, but what I _am_ really great at is drinking. So if you need someone to help you forget your name and more importantly _Will’s_ , I’m your girl.”

Mac considered her for a moment, before grabbing her purse and standing up.

“Let’s go,” Mac said.

“Right now?” Maggie sputtered as Mac barreled past her.

"Jim!” Mac called. “Can you fill in for me tonight?” Jim looked confused, but nodded.

“Sure,” he shrugged.

"Thanks, Jim,” Mac flashed him a smile, and then tossed a glance over her shoulder at Maggie. “You coming?”

“Absolutely,” Maggie agreed, quickly gathering her own things as they passed her desk and wondering what the hell she had just gotten herself into.

* * *

 

Will was startled when he heard Jim’s voice in his ear that night.

He had tried to find Mac several times that day, and her office was empty every time he had passed by.

It did not escape his attention that the rather large (and expensive) bouquet he sent her was now sitting on Neal’s desk instead of his lovely fiancée’s.

He was forced to admit that perhaps he had misjudged the level of her anger.

“Where’s MacKenzie?” He demanded as soon as they cut to the first commercial break.

“I’m not sure,” Jim replied. “She asked if I could fill in. I said I could. That’s all I’ve got for you.”

After that, it was not, to say the least, his best show.

The fight had been three days ago, and he wasn’t sure exactly what had started it in the first place. He was in a foul mood (despite evidence to the contrary, there were occasionally times when he was able to admit when he had done something wrong), Mac was having a bad day, and things seemed to be simmering just below the surface as they made their way home after the show. It was something stupid, he couldn’t even fucking remember what it was, but he had snapped at MacKenzie, who had snapped back, and things had snowballed from there.

The unfortunate truth was that there was a lot they still needed to talk about, a lot of hurt feelings on both sides that still needed to be addressed. He loved her, she loved him, there was a ring on her finger, and a date in June already set, but it had all happened so fast. They were wading their way through years of bitterness and regret, and sometimes Will’s mouth moved faster than his brain.

It was a barb about Brian; that was what had done it. A thoughtless, pointed comment, the type that had become habit in the years after they broke up. It was instinct, lash out faster, harder; it was ingrained in him.

Mac had frozen, and without saying another word, she had turned and walked out of the apartment, and Will had not, in his infinite wisdom, gone after her.

Instead he had poured himself a stiff drink, and pretended that he wasn’t worrying that she had just walked out without a coat or her wallet.

Four drinks in had him leaving a series of voicemails, each one becoming more panicked.

“ _You could let me know that you aren’t in a ditch somewhere. That would be the polite thing to do.”_

_“Could you call me and let me know that you made it back to your apartment?”_

_“Mac, please call me and let me know that you made it home safely.”_

_“Hon, I’m sorry, okay? But I need you to call me back and let me know that you made it home.”_

_“Mac, please, call me back.”_

She finally texted back. Short. Simple.

_I’m fine._

When she avoided him the next day, he figured he would let her cool off. He wasn’t surprised when she wasn’t waiting at his apartment after the show (they were still in the process of finding a place they both loved. They alternated their time between both of their places, but Will was not stupid enough to go over to Mac’s apartment), but when they entered day three of absolute radio silence, he was starting to panic.

And that was _before_ Sloan showed up in his office to read him the riot act.

He had royally fucked up.

And it turned out flowers weren’t going to cut it.

* * *

Maggie was drunk, but she was not as drunk as Mac.

They started out at Hang Chew’s, but Maggie had pointed out that Will might think to look for MacKenzie there--should he go try to find her--so Mac had suggested camping out in her apartment instead.

“I have wine,” she had said, in a tone that implied that was the only thing that mattered when choosing a location. And Maggie had shrugged and followed her home.

“He was a real prick,” Mac complained, polishing off a bottle and clumsily climbing to her feet to go search for more. “I won’t bore you with the details, but know that I’m not wrong.” She waved the empty bottle at Maggie, who held up her hands in surrender.

“I didn’t think you were,” Maggie replied, seriously. Mac nodded, satisfied, and was stumbling back into the living room when the doorman buzzed up.

“You have a delivery, Ms. McHale,” he announced.

The delivery turned out to be four small boxes, all in a signature robin’s egg blue, little white bows on top.

_I’m so sorry, and I love you. -W_

“Fucker,” Mac said, reaching for the first box.

It was a necklace, followed by matching earrings, a bracelet, and a brooch.

"Do people even wear brooches anymore?" Maggie asked, turning it over in her hands.

"No," Mac snorted. She paused, taking a drink, before saying in a wistful voice, "It _is_ beautiful."

"He seems sorry," Maggie murmured, trying on the necklace. Mac drained her drink.

"There will be more presents," Mac warned. "Will never does anything in halves."

"How long are you going to stay mad at him?" Maggie asked. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked that. Maybe I'm pretty drunk."

"It's a valid question," Mac conceded. "I'm just not ready to be forgiving yet. I'm enjoying my righteous indignation."

"Plus, the presents are pretty great," Maggie pointed out. "Any idea what he'll send next?" Mac shrugged.

"Not really, although if I wait too long to forgive him, I might end with a new car."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing," Maggie protested. "I have a great idea. Will can buy you a car and you can give it to me."

"Good try," Mac's face broke into a smile for the first time in days.

"It was worth a shot."

* * *

Will was stretched out on a lounge chair on his balcony, a cigarette in one hand, a drink in the other, when his phone rang, interrupting his deep brooding.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Mac's name on the screen, and his fingers fumbled in his haste to answer.

"Hello?" _Play it cool, McAvoy_ , he thought. "Mac? Hon? You okay? Are you at home?" _Or not._

"I'm home," Mac confirmed, and he couldn't read her tone. "The presents were beautiful, Will."

"I'm a fucking idiot," he blurted. "I'm so sorry."

He was met with silence on the other end, and he held his breath until he finally heard her sigh. Will knew, by heart, all the sounds that MacKenzie made; he knew what she sounded like when she was pleased, or angry, or nervous. And he could tell, just by that sigh, that he was forgiven.

He hadn't totally fucked everything up.

Thank Christ.

"You really are an idiot," she agreed.

"I'm working on it," he promised.

"Working on what exactly?" She snorted.

"Not being quite such a fucking idiot," Will replied, running a hand over his face.

"Good luck," Mac was amused, and he took that as a good sign.

"I really am sorry," he told her sincerely.

"I know," Mac's voice softened. Will took a deep breath and asked,

"Can I come over?"

The wait between the question and her answer was nearly unbearable.

"Yes, but you should know that Maggie is currently passed out on my couch."

* * *

As quietly as he could, Will opened Mac's front door and slipped inside, toeing off his shoes by the front door and padding softly past the couch where Maggie was snoring.

Mac was waiting for him in her bedroom, a book propped up in her lap, and she glanced up at the sound of the door opening, smiling softly.

"I don't think I want to know what Maggie is doing drunkenly sleeping on your couch," Will whispered, tugging off jeans and his t-shirt.

" _I'm_ a little drunk," Mac admitted. "She was helping me drink my feelings." Will cringed, climbing under the covers next to her, and fitting himself against her body, wrapping his arms around her middle, and resting his head against her chest. Mac dropped a hand and tangled it in his hair.

"I really am sorry," Will murmured into her soft skin. Her fingers scraped against his scalp, and he closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how he ever lived without this, without her.

No wonder he was such a miserable bastard for so long.

"I know," Mac replied. "I have about fifty grand in diamonds to prove it."

"I might have gone overboard," Will admitted.

"A little," she agreed. "I'm keeping the earrings. Everything else can go back. You're setting a dangerous precedent." He glanced up at her, and the corners of his mouth tugged down slightly.

"You can keep all of it," he insisted.

"No, it's too much," she shook her head. "When will I ever wear a brooch?"

"I got talked into the brooch," he muttered.

"You don't have to buy me expensive presents every time we have a fight," she told him, leaning down to tuck a kiss in his hair. "I just needed a couple of days to cool off."

"Let's make an offer on that place you liked," Will said suddenly.

"Huh?" Will sat up so he could look at her.

"You had this apartment to run to," he explained. "If we lived together, we would have been forced to work things out. I wouldn't have spent three miserable days not having you by my side."

"You would have probably spent three miserable days on the couch," she told him, poking him gently in the side. He ignored her.

"It still would have been better than not seeing you," he argued. "So let's just make an offer on that place you liked. The one you said had good bones."

"It needed a lot of work," she pointed out. "We'll still not be able to move in there for a while. The whole place basically needs gutted."

"I don't care," he insisted. "As long as we have a mattress to sleep on."

"You've lost your mind," Mac said, but she was grinning.

"Say yes." Mac rolled her eyes. "Say yes and I'll call the real estate agent tomorrow and tell her to make an offer."

"Okay, yes," she replied, and he kissed her, hard, before sliding his hands up under her t-shirt.

"Maggie's on the couch," she reminded him, putting her own hand on his roaming fingers.

"I'll be quiet," he promised. "I have a lot of penance to do. I really need to get started." 


End file.
